


Tax days in Minas Tirith

by Tethys_resort



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Disasters, Economics, F/M, Gondor, Guilds, M/M, Parades, Rebuilding, Taxes, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tethys_resort/pseuds/Tethys_resort
Summary: The Merchant's Guild always makes a big production of paying their taxes.





	Tax days in Minas Tirith

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: for accidents and disasters. And taxes (which always alarm me).

There was a large wooden crate of fabric in the middle of the Great Hall. 

Next to it was the potential owner, a rather fussy looking man wearing unreasonable amounts of gold jewelry. Directly behind him was a woman in an unfortunate plaid dress with five attendants each with their own barrow of filled grain sacks. She was followed a grim looking man in blue velvet holding a basket making suspicious scratching noises…. The line went on and on. The only notable thing the occupants of the Hall had in common was a certain heft and level of clothing that Aragorn had usually classified as “rich, therefore important and likely to take umbrage at the presence of the scruffy Ranger in the corner”.

Aragorn, now King of Gondor, hid behind a long, elegant curtain next to the doorway to the administrative wing and wondered if there had been an evacuation of the wealthy residents of the city or a party he had not noted in the calendar. 

Valar forbid that it was another event like the one a few days ago. He had only found out about twenty minutes before the presentation that the brand new Ambassador from southern Harad intended to gift him with a pair of peacocks to celebrate his new reign. He was just glad that it had been eventually clarified (despite a formidable language barrier) that most rulers in the far South kept menageries before the cooks had done the natural thing and roasted the birds for dinner. (The hobbits bring food to parties and potlucks, so he had reasonably assumed that “please accept these birds as a gift for your hospitality” meant “on the occasion of the banquet this afternoon”.) 

As it was the birds had made it to the kitchen courtyard. It’s a good thing Legolas can run fast in formal robes and knows all the shortcuts over the roofs and through windows…

Legolas and Gimli had appeared from the north two weeks ago, still riding Arod but towing a pair of pack mules of personal possessions and official documents behind them. Aragorn had immediately offered a suite in the Royal Wing to the pair. They had happily moved in down at the end of the hall and Aragorn had spent a couple of days laughing as Gimli patiently taught Legolas to help him install shelving as the existing was a bit too high for the dwarf. 

Legolas, unused to hammers as anything except weapons of war, eventually had been relegated to holding things in place while Gimli hammered and sawed. Aragorn had been further amused when Legolas and Arwen had then immediately started moving in potted plants. 

There was a rustle of fabric as Faramir, fresh in from Ithilen, joined him behind the curtain. 

“Good morning, Lord Aragorn.” 

“Lord Aragorn” had been his and Faramir’s eventual compromise. Aragorn really hated the strings of “My Lords”, “Your Majesty”, “Your Highness”, “Your Grace”, “Your Imperial Majesty” (Aragorn guessed it WAS an Empire but he really hated that one), High King, and his personal least favorite “Protector of the Realms” that followed him about the halls. 

“Why are all these people here?” 

“Today is the last day of spring, and as such, tax day in the city.” Faramir peeked around the edge of the curtain again then settled noiselessly back against the wall without disturbing the fall of fabric. 

“That doesn’t explain the people, grain, fabric or that basket of rabbits.”

Faramir shrugged, “By ancient law, the guilds are allowed to pay in goods or gold. The royal accountants determine the value of each commodity based on current market price. Maybe the rabbits are petty change?”

When you spend most of your time wandering from place to place in the wilderness, tax collection is something that mostly happens to everyone else. Erestor, Chief Advisor to Lord Elrond, had very carefully tutored him in finance and explained all the places that Imladris’s taxes went but he doesn’t ever remember actually observing tax collection taking place. Was it usual everywhere to hand the tax collector a bundle of fabric or a cart of chickens? If so, wouldn’t Erestor’s office have been more crowded?

He remembered that the Hobbits hadn’t really had taxes. The landowners had all been responsible for different sets of rent, maintenance and upkeep. 

Faramir continued, “The system seems to work pretty well, except for the Merchant’s Guild.”

“The Merchant’s Guild? Do they cheat or something?”

“No, they always bring something that is of exactly the correct value for taxes but very showy. It has become an event and informal parade over the years.”

A parade for tax day… Aragorn doesn’t remember THAT from his previous (undercover) stint in the city. So the parade is a recent development? Or, he was with the army and he hadn’t been in town enough?

Aragorn said, “Well, I’ll let the tax collectors do their work.” He and Faramir slipped out of hiding and quietly around the corner back into the administrative wing and back toward his office and the little attached courtyard. The good news was that his Council had accepted the statement that he MUST do paperwork in the courtyard garden whenever the weather was nice. The scribes didn’t seem to care as long as they could reach him with their papers or voice.

After Legolas AND Gimli had joined him in the top of the giant oak tree gracing the courtyard, no one else had dared to criticize his habit of sitting up in the tree to read documents. He was still startled a dwarf had learned to climb trees that well.

Faramir and Aragorn settled onto a bench under a side tree. “How is Ithilen? And the Lady Eowyn?”

Faramir smiled, “It thrives my Lord, and my Lady sends her greetings. She would have come to visit in person but it is foaling season.” He laughed before continuing, “In truth, I have barely seen her myself in the last few weeks except for the time in the middle of the night I was called to man a rope.”

“A rope?” Aragon tried to match up foaling season and ropes and failed utterly. Stretching his imagination only brought to mind horrifying things on which he would rather not dwell.

“A rope, my Lord. I believe I have learned more about the birthing of horses than I ever wished. In the meantime, I have brought the most recent border reports and my Lady has some interesting ideas for trade opportunities to the East.”

***

Gimli and Legolas were enjoying a morning of training with the Citadel Guard when they heard about the Merchant’s Parade. 

One of the archers shooting (and losing) against Legolas said, “The Merchant’s Parade is scheduled for three hours after noon today.”

Legolas selected another arrow and yelled, “Pull!” to the man on the sling device that sent targets into the air. He and his competition both released arrows and watched them sail toward the very distant target before he said, “What is the Merchant’s Parade?”

“Today is tax day, and so the Merchants’ Guild must pay their taxes. But they always make it an annual event with a fair down next to the First Ring Market and a parade up to the Palace. They always have the most incredible things to show that they are using to pay their taxes! My children love it.”

Another archer said, “Last year they didn’t do it because of the War, but the year before they brought a giant display of ocean products from Dol Amroth. Three years ago it was textiles from the East beyond Harad.”

Soon the entire field of archers was discussing all the marvelous things they had seen at the Merchant’s Parade. And their plans to take their children, wives, husbands and lovers to the associated Fair that evening. 

Legolas listened carefully. It was only later, as he and Gimli were walking away from morning practice that he said, “Gimli nin, what are taxes?”

Gimli blinked. Did the Greenwood not have taxes? He started to explain the idea of part of people’s income going to the crown when Legolas sighed and said, “That’s what I thought. I thought maybe I had misunderstood the Westeron.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“These Men of Gondor were associating it with a fair and parade.”

Gimli stopped to stare up at his husband. “For taxes?”

***

As usual since they had returned to the City, Legolas and Gimli ate lunch with Aragorn and Arwen. 

“Lord Gimli, Lord Legolas, it is nice to see you again.” When they walked in, Faramir was sitting next to Aragorn and Arwen at the table in the King and Queen’s private quarters. “How fares the North?”

Legolas smiled as the he and Gimli joined them at the table. “The Greenwood is re-growing after the final battles and Erebor re-building.”

“Tripping over each other trying to rebuild. King Thorin and King Thranduil have taken it up as a competition to see who can rebuild better.” Gimli looked amused.

“Better?” Faramir stared at the pair busily serving themselves off the platters laid out with a light lunch.

Arwen laughed, “With respect Legolas, it is entirely characteristic of your father and sister.” 

Aragorn snickered quietly into his lunch. Growing up in the House of Elrond and a longtime friend of Legolas, he has dealt with Thranduil more than once.

Gimli rolled his eyes as he poured himself an ale. As soon as he moved the pitcher, Legolas pinched the mug, taking one sip before replacing it in front of Gimli again. Legolas said, “Father has always taken great pride in the Greenwood and Halls, it is only fitting that he restores them to their greatest glory. My eldest sister is duty bound as Heir to assist him in this endeavor.”

Gimli picked up the explanation as Legolas took a bite of food. “King Thorin, as newly crowned King Under the Mountain, also wishes Erebor to reflect the greatest possible grandeur. It was only our bad luck that we had wedding banquets in both the Greenwood and the Lonely Mountain.”

Faramir was a little lost, he and Lady Eowyn had hosted wedding banquets in both Gondor and Rohan and it had been wonderful. “Bad luck?” he echoed.

Arwen was beginning to laugh helplessly; it was obvious that two weeks of exposure had not worn off the humor. 

“Aye, terrible luck. King Thranduil and King Thorin, having been guests in each other’s halls, both now are determined that their holdings shall be restored to greater glory!” Gimli shook his head, beads clattering slightly, “As a result, all new settlements are on hold briefly while Erebor rebuilds and opens new trade routes with the Greenwood so that the Kings can better compare holdings.”

Faramir supposed that was better than the legendarily short tempered Elven King and the King Under the Mountain deciding to start a war. 

Arwen said, “Ada sent a wonderful letter explaining how King Thranduil sent an emissary to Imladris demanding assistance be sent for the rebuilding.”

Faramir was fascinated, “How did your Lord Father respond?”

“He graciously offered to send Lord Erestor and Lord Glorfindel. The offer was graciously turned down.”

With Arwen’s inadequate explanation, Aragorn finally lost the battle for dignity and tried to drown his sudden laughter in an ale mug. The punchline of the story was lost as the King and Queen were reduced to giggles and mopping up beer. 

Faramir considered if he wanted to know or if he should just quietly move the conversation onward. After a couple of minutes of giggling next to him, he awkwardly said, “The Merchant’s Guild is starting their parade at three hours after noon.”

Aragorn regained some self-control, “Ah, yes. I was informed that I had to make an appearance as the first of the carts and the inventory were handed over to the Head Scribe.” He rolled his eyes, he still hadn’t figured out how tax day had become a holiday. Or why, as ruler of the city (and Gondor) he had to stand there and look imposing for just long enough for a scroll to be handed over. 

And he was still baffled on why the guilds were paying in goods. On his way to lunch he had passed by a random selection of various Guilds, all somewhat identifiable by their cargo. The sheer number of Guilds was both impressive and depressing.

Apparently there was Wine Guild, Ale Guild, Whiskey Distillers Guild AND a Distilled Spirits Guild. Why four Guilds for varieties of alcohol?

Then there is the parade and fair the Merchant’s Guild puts on. Aragorn had the shrewd notion that the Merchant’s Guild makes more off of their fair than they lose in taxes each year. 

“I understand that the Fair is next to the First Ring Market. Gimli and I are intending to go look because I have not seen many Fairs of Men.” Legolas sounded delighted, he had really only been to fairs when visiting Imladris. 

“The Midsummer Fair in Dale is always quite good, I am interested in seeing how this one compares. Maybe Erebor will have to send a group for trade.” Gimli sounds as though he is going to take careful notes.

Down their bond, Arwen said, _“Can we sneak away and see the fair too? Maybe tonight when we could blend in without guards?”_ Arwen, still Elven strong and perfectly capable of defending herself from almost anything imaginable in the city, had begun to grow tired of the various officials treating her as though she was a sheltered, uneducated, delicate flower. Aragorn had already resolved that he was going to need replacements for the official idiots who thought his beloved wife (who had been trained to rule both a household and a city-state) should sit inside (not even the gardens, did they hate fresh air?) and embroider all day. 

She gave him a pleading look and smile, and his heart melted a little at the wistful expression. He hates being penned up in the castle too, they can sneak out.

Faramir caught the glance between the two and internally laughed; the King and Queen are obviously plotting to run away in much the way he and Boromir used to sneak out windows to explore the city without guards, nannies or tutors. Lord Aragorn has not changed in the slightest since being crowned. 

***

After lunch, Faramir and Aragorn walked back down to the administrative wing to continue looking at maps. The trade ideas Lady Eowyn had could better help generate income for Ithilen and benefit Gondor with better access to the East. The ideas would require careful implementation though, and possibly more Guard units stationed on that side of the country to maintain a safe trade road.

Current trade from that area was going entirely through a limited section of the Merchant’s Guild and Aragorn has heard muttering that the trade goods (rare spices, textiles ect.) are of second quality and overly priced, even considering the difficulty of getting the wares to Gondor. Not to mention, it would be nice to have more information about those countries in general. Maybe next time there wouldn’t be so much surprise when they were attacked by battalions riding on top of Oliphants. 

Aragorn was toying with asking Legolas and Gimli if they would like to go exploring for him. It seemed that it would take quite a while before they had specific responsibilities in the Glittering Caves or Ithilen. When asked, Legolas had said, “Oh, restoring Erebor and the Greenwood shouldn’t take long. Only 10 or 50 years, 200 at the outside.” 

Legolas had often expressed the desire to go traveling and a coherent understanding of time aside, he and Gimli would be perfect for the job: hardy travelers who could probably get along with anyone, with enough rank to meet foreign leaders. 

Even better, Gimli takes excellent notes.

He’ll have to ask, he hates getting all his information about the South and East from merchants. 

***

Legolas and Gimli ducked under the rope meant to keep people away and inspected the carts on display next to the fair. There were at least ten big wagons with high sides. Each was filled with different wares in heavy wooden barrels. There were teams of oxen picketed in the shade of the trees nearby, waiting to be hitched for the parade. 

The hired guards for the Merchants Guild had not been sure of how to remove an Elven Prince and a Dwarf Lord, both heroes of the War, from the wagons so had focused on keeping everyone else out and turning a blind eye to the pair exploring. 

Gimli had crawled under one of the wagons and was examining the undercarriage and support system. When he crawled back out a senior member of the Merchant’s Guild stood next to the wagon. “My Lord, I am honored by your presence. May I answer any questions you have? You may have seen the new pin assembly at the front end of the cart, these carts are a new design meant to more easily traverse the turns up to our great Citadel of Minas Tirith.”

The merchant hesitated a moment and then continued, “Perhaps they would be perfect for moving goods to the illustrious mountain of Erebor?”

Gimli reflected that it hadn’t taken long for word to spread that he and Legolas are officially ambassadors for Erebor and the Greenwood. 

He traded pleasantries with the merchant and promised to ask if he had questions before going back to his inspection. Overall, the design seems good: a pin allows the whole front end to pivot, making turns more efficient. The wheel spokes, axels and brakes seem light but it might be because he is used to ore carts that use a similar design. 

Legolas had been leaning over to sniff things and read the sides of sealed barrels. Finally, he came back and they walked off together to find a place to sit in the shade until closer to the parade. They settled together under a tree and Gimli said, “So what wares do they bring this year? Surely you couldn’t smell them through the barrels?”

“Many carts of salt pork and tubs of lard.” Legolas wrinkled his nose, Gimli hasn’t yet managed to convince him that salt pork is food. “And then a few carts of things I haven’t seen before.”

“Like?” Gimli was curious now, Legolas is a younger elf but still old enough to have seen many things over the centuries.

“One cart was entirely full of barrels of olive oil. Olive trees grow to the south on the coast, so probably it was easier to press them there and just bring the oil.”

“And olives are a nut or seed of some sort?”

“A type of fruit tree, I think.” It was obvious to Gimli that Legolas wasn’t entirely certain either. 

Legolas smiled wider, “One cart was full of wheels of cheese covered in wax! I have never seen so many cheeses at once!” Legolas likes cheese. “And then carts with spices, one even had a tiny barrel of peppercorns.”

“Aye, that sounds like a luxury item for taxes. The salt pork is probably meant for the army.”

“There were barrels I didn’t recognize though and I wasn’t sure how to ask.” Legolas sighed. “I hoped to identify them by smell but couldn’t. Gimli-nin do you know what a herring is?”

“No. Is that what barrels were labeled?” Herring… Gimli thought it sounded like a name a Beorning would have. 

“Pickled herring… Maybe Estel will know.” King Aragorn has traveled more than either of them but Legolas would dearly love to travel Middle Earth before going over the Sea.

“If he doesn’t, I’m sure he would have permission to look in the barrel. The crowds are forming up; what time was it again?”

The crowds gathered much faster than Gimli or Legolas had anticipated and the city of Men was much more crowded than their homelands. 

While Legolas was tall enough to see over the crowds, Gimli was not. Legolas ended up boosting Gimli into a low tree as he had his axes but not the specialized tree climbing gear he had invented. He smiled down at Legolas from under the leaves. He is not sure that dwarfs are meant to climb trees but it had turned out to be surprisingly fun. 

Gimli was not surprised when Lady Arwen, dressed in workman’s trousers and shirt with her hair and ears under a hat, slid into place on the branch above his. He smiled up at the Queen and then turned his attention back to the carts: the first of the carts, containing only a group of musicians singing about all the things the Merchant’s Guild sells, had gone around the bend in the road. The next carts were slowly following, the oxen trudging slower and slower as they struggled up the grade.

Legolas and Gimli had discovered that they could communicate over their bond for a fair distance, but they rarely did so. They tended to reserve communication that way for when they were in direct physical contact: it was a little less taxing. So Gimli was surprised to feel Legolas gently tapping at the back of his mind.

Ignoring faint trace of headache the method of communication gave him at this distance, he sent back, _“??”_

Legolas said, _“Meleth nin, the second cart sounds funny.”_

Funny? Gimli responded, _“Funny how?”_

Legolas sent, *sound* and Gimli jerked in alarm. Through the noise of the crowds and wheels on cobbles Legolas was listening to the sound of slowly rending metal.

_“Metal fatigue! Get everyone to run!”_ he shouted back mentally before turning to Arwen on the next branch up, “My Lady, the second wagon is going to come apart. Everyone must get back!”

Even as he turned to Arwen, he could hear Legolas yelling that the cart was breaking. The drover in charge of that wagon turned to stare at Legolas, baffled to be yelled at by an elf.

Long before the Fellowship, before moving back to Erebor, Gimli had mined in the watery and played out mines of the Blue Mountains. It was another job that added just a little more income to keep his family from starvation. Gimli had been young enough to be kept in the safer areas but mines are always dangerous. One day, the turn shaft on a pump system had failed: too much brackish water, old equipment and too many other critically needed repairs. 

There had been a BANG reminiscent of the exploding fire of Orthnac that Gimli encountered decades later and a brief pause. Gimli remembered freezing at the CRACK of breaking metal, a microscopically brief pause shared by all, a surge of terror sweeping through the miners as the turn shaft rebounded into the rest of the pumping device. 

As Legolas shouted, Arwen swung out of the tree. Gimli followed and his feet hit the ground just as with a dying shriek the turning mechanism on the wagon carriage disintegrated and the pin snapped. The world paused, caught in time for the briefest moment, before the front wheels of the wagon and it is braking system parted ways with the main body of the wagon and its back wheels. 

The back half skidded into the oxen behind them, knocking them down and breaking that wagon as the axels were suddenly stressed. In addition to sliding pieces of cart, the world was suddenly full of barrels and cheese wheels gaining momentum down the side of the city. The next carts were following too close (and in any case, oxen don’t change direction quickly) and were hit by debris from the initial accident. 

Gimli yelled, “Run!” to the stunned parade watchers and fended off a flying cheese wheel with his axe. Beside him Arwen grabbed a mother and child and pulled them out of the line of a rolling barrel. It slid off the embankment and smashed into the side of a house below, damaging the wall and spreading salt pork across the yard. 

People scattered, screaming and Gimli focused on keeping the people cowering behind him from being crushed.

It didn’t take long for the large objects to finally settle down the hill. With a chance to breathe, Gimli looked up for his husband. Legolas was at the next bend, having been making the same attempt at preventing casualties from the accident. Feeling Gimli’s concern down their bond, he gave the dwarf a smile and started tiptoeing his way between bits of shattered carts, angry oxen and scattered food.

His smile was bright and happy with adrenaline as he said, “Meleth-nin, I think maybe before Gates you should offer to build Estel a better system of delivering supplies to the Citadel.”

Arwen started to laugh, then looked across the wreckage and sighed. “Gimli-nin, Legolas-nin? Will you help me triage casualties?

***

Aragorn and Arwen lay sprawled peacefully in their bed. Aragorn had hidden his head under a pillow. Arwen was humming a lullaby while she watched the stars. 

Aragorn was exhausted, he had still been in his courtyard oak tree when the crash echoed across the city. He was headed to the nearest Citadel lookout when a City Watch member brought the news of what was already being referred to as the Merchant’s Parade Disaster. 

The good news was that between a city full of people well trained to run away and the fact that the accident happened at the bend between the First and Second Rings (rather than at the crowds gathering before the main entrance to the Citadel) the carnage had been very limited. The carters had fared the worst: several had grabbed the carts in a misguided attempt to stop their descent. 

Several onlookers had been hit by barrels or debris, but no one killed. Five houses had damage from falling debris, one (fortunately unoccupied at the time) had been completely obliterated by salt pork. 

According to members of the City Watch, the most tragic part was that the Merchant’s Fair had also been in the line of destruction. Faced with injured people, destroyed carts, damaged houses and flattened fair tents they had quietly canceled the whole event. Aragorn was amazed at the number of Watch members who had planned to take children, wives and husbands when finally off duty. 

He had ordered the Merchant’s Guild to, in addition to paying their taxes (properly and again), to completely recompense everyone effected. Aragorn had assigned several scribes the task of checking up to make sure it was done properly.

It had taken until early evening but once again all was well with the world. 

He wondered if his Ada, Lord Elrond, had days like these. 

Aragorn pulled his head out from under his pillow. “My love?”

“Hmmm?” Arwen’s eyes were a beautiful and glistening gray, with flecks of lighter silver and darker brown. Mesmerized, Aragorn could happily stare into them the rest of eternity. On pure instinct he reached out towards his love and she slid over to cuddle up against his chest. 

He sighed and kissed her hair, Arwen makes all this king stuff worth it. “Did Ada collect taxes as currency or goods?”

“Currency, since the goat incident. Erestor said that he would Sail if there were ever goats left in his office again.”


End file.
